Out of Order (14 page)

We went to the bathroom down the hall, and Kate liberally reapplied her lip gloss while I dabbed transferred gloss off my lips and cheek and chin. When we had both finished, we stood under the fluorescent lights and just looked at each other for a long moment.

“I’m really glad I’m not losing my friend tonight,” she said, breaking the silence. “Just… gaining something more.”

“You can’t get rid of me now,” I told her jokingly. “We’re friends for life, even if this thing between us doesn’t work out. Even when we’re old and wrinkled… we’re going to
die
together!”

Kate laughed, leaning down to press her forehead against mine. It was a bit like an Eskimo kiss in that it held no risk in messing up her makeup. “You bet we are!” She leaned back and spun around, swishing her skirt out. “We’re going to die together!”

T
HEY
SAY
that your life flashes before your eyes when you think that you’re about to die. If that were true, I would have gotten the highlight reel while perched atop a broken toilet at Sparky’s Diner, listening to a pair of steel-toed boots approach my stall. Instead, as I stood on the stage at my high school graduation, in front of dozens of witnesses, I watched my senior year play out like a movie projected onto the faceless crowd.

I closed my eyes and squared my shoulders, trying to forget, just for a moment, the way Kate crinkled her nose when she laughed, the way Jessa huffed and crossed her arms when we made fun of her and Brandon’s constant kissy-face, the way Ricky’s voice sounded as she sang along to the car radio. I couldn’t forget a single moment like that. And why should I?

When I opened my eyes, I was still standing on the stage in my high school’s auditorium, but I felt more clearheaded than I had in days. Only a few breaths had passed, but I knew now what I needed to say.

“You all know what happened on prom night by now. News travels fast in a small town. And
our
small town, the place we all feel safe, was the home of a vicious and senseless murder.

“I was told repeatedly not to use that word when preparing to give this speech.
Murder
. I was told to make my speech as uplifting as possible under the circumstances, and I’m sorry Principal Sterner, but I cannot and shall not do that. You wanted me to come up here and talk in front of everyone, to tell them why we are here today, and
that
is precisely what I am going to do.”

The audience was silent as I swept my eyes over the crowd, trying to distinguish one face from another. I could not. The stage lights in my eyes made them all faceless, shadows of people I knew and respected.

“When I was elected valedictorian, I was a different person than the one who stands before you today. I had not been touched by tragedy, by grief, and I was ignorant. Not because, as my cue cards say here, I thought I was invincible. Not because I thought that being young made me indestructible. I was ignorant because I believed that human nature was essentially
good
. I believed in karma, and fate, and paying it forward.

“I have never believed myself or my friends invincible, but I did believe in our futures. I believed I would die one day surrounded by friends, family, and grandchildren, and that the majority of my peers would end their lives the same way, sixty, seventy, or even eighty years from now. I would have gone to college, gotten a degree, and found a job. After years of hard work, I would have retired; after meet-cutes and breakups I would find my soul mate and make a life with them, have children, watch them grow.

“This is the life that awaits most of the graduates sitting in this auditorium. Thank God that you are here. You have all worked very hard to be here today, and you deserve recognition for that accomplishment. Those of us who are lucky enough to walk across this stage today and shake hands with Principal Sterner will go on to achieve wonderful things in this life, whether those things include a great success like developing a new treatment for cancer or simply settling down to start a family. You will make choices every day that will move you through your future. Whether you earn bachelor’s degrees or doctorates, whether you get married at nineteen or at thirty-five, whether you make a million dollars a year or ten thousand, you will make great accomplishments. This I can promise you.

“I can promise you this because you are alive. You are bright and vibrant young people with goals and the perseverance to reach them. The four people that we lost to this senseless crime were also young, bright, and vibrant. They too had amazing things in the future to learn and teach and create. Four young lives just like mine and yours were cut short because a man with a gun—”

I felt like my throat was closing. I’d already said so much, but there was more. I had to get it out now or it would never come out. It would be frozen in my mind, stuck in my mouth, and it would fester and rot there until it was all I’d ever be able to taste. I coughed bitterly, swallowed past the bad taste in my mouth—and pushed on.

“—a
man
with a
gun
decided he could play God and end those lives.” I bit my lip and shook my head. “I don’t know why, and I might never know why, but he did. He chose to murder four people,
those
four people, and that is why we are here tonight.
We
are here tonight because that man chose to kill
those
four people and not us.”

I could see Vice Principal Redding pulling violently at her blonde curls just offstage. I had gone incredibly off script, but everything I was saying demanded to be said. If no one else was going to be brave enough, I would have to be.

“We are here, and they are not. I used to believe in things like karma, fate, and paying it forward. I’m not sure I can believe in those things anymore, because it seems to me that these four were chosen without logic or reason. We are here and they are not here, so we must be the ones to mourn and to remember them. Today cannot be the joyous occasion that it will be for the hundreds of other high schools across the country, because they are not here to share it with us.”

I glanced down at my cue cards. There was nothing in them that I needed to say.

“Jacob Patrick Hastings was nineteen years old,” I said instead, noticing Principal Sterner walking up the steps of the left side of the stage out of the corner of my eye. “He had just gotten a summer job at Sparky’s Diner. He had been home from his first year of college for barely one month. An avid rower and track star at this very high school, Jake Hastings’ life had only just begun.”

I heard a rustle behind me, like the flap of a curtain. If I were about to get pulled off stage, I was sure as hell going to finish this part before they made me leave. I gripped the sides of the podium defensively, anchoring myself to the stage.

“Erica Rose O’Brien was seventeen years old. We called her Ricky. She was a member of the mathletes, the chess club, and the chamber choir. She had trouble walking in high heels, was prone to asthma attacks, and didn’t like to talk on the phone. Her favorite musician was “Weird Al” Yankovic, and she was terrified of heights. Ricky wanted to become a registered nurse to care for the elderly. She loved her family, and had a special connection to her grandmother, who passed away last fall.” I heard that same rustle again behind me. “I like to think that they’re together now.”

I turned around to look at where the sound was coming from and saw Principal Sterner standing beside four easels. Two were draped in black fabric and two had been uncovered to reveal blown-up photographs. One was of Jake Hastings, obviously his first year photo from college. The other was of Ricky, wearing a cap and gown. Graduation photos taken months in advance: Ricky would never get to graduate, but she’d be on stage with us while we did.

I was tearing up again, but I had to press on and finish what I’d started. I hadn’t known that the administration had planned to do this—uncover the photos before the ceremony—but I had given them the perfect opportunity to animate the process.

“Jessa Inez Fuentes was eighteen years old. She was a member of the dance team and the Girl Scouts of America. She volunteered for her church and outside of it, bringing love and joy wherever she went. She dreamed of her wedding day and prayed for world peace. She carried a pocket-sized Bible in her purse and knew which saint you had to pray to for just about anything. Jessa loved her parents, her little sisters, her boyfriend Brandon, and Jesus Christ. She is in Heaven now.”

I heard Principal Sterner uncover the third photo and risked a glance back at it. Of course Jessa looked beautiful in it, with her hair pinned up in loose curls and her smile soft and natural. The white roses in the bouquet she held in one arm looked just like the one Brandon had placed on her wrist in the limo on the way to prom. Maybe they’d use white roses at her funeral too.

“Katherine Anne Barrett,” I started again, my voice
catching. “Kate.”

My heart began to race, rattling my breastbone. When I was done saying something nice about her, they’d reveal the final photo, and it would be over. I had to say the perfect thing, sum up her existence in a few sentences.

Ricky’s had been easy; she and I were so alike, and I knew what kind of thing I’d want said about me if our roles were reversed—I could practically hear her whispering, “
Read it like a dating profile!
”

Jessa had been simple too. She had been so pious, so good at being good. She would have wanted her love for the church to be emphasized, with her family and Brandon taking a very close second. Those had been her priorities, simple and true.

But what would Kate want? What could I highlight about the woman I loved when I loved all of her?

Someone coughed, and I fumbled for my cue cards, wishing I’d written down something about each of them. Kate had been so complex, so rebellious and carefree—what words could I string together to bring her to life for all these people? How could I make them understand what had been lost?

“Kate Barrett loved freedom. She danced like nobody was watching, wore whatever she wanted, and was never too shy to kiss and tell. She loved love, and she loved music. She was adventurous and rebellious, sought thrills and laughs. She pursued happiness like she could never get enough and could always make me smile, no matter what was bringing me down.” I smiled then, softly and sadly, as the final easel was uncovered. “I will miss her every day for the rest of my life.”

I was standing on a stage in front of my peers, their families, and the staff of my high school. Behind me were four photographs—four photographs for four dead teenagers.

“Four photographs are on this stage when there could have been four teenagers starting their lives as adults. They will never get to graduate from college, get married, or have children. They leave gaping holes in our lives, the hole of a lost friend, a girlfriend, or a teammate. I could not read my speech to you as it is written on these cue cards because those words can no longer express what I am feeling as I stand before you today.

“Today should be a joyous occasion. Instead, we mourn the loss of four lives. Our futures are bright and theirs have been extinguished. Today I am grieving the loss of my three best friends. I am lucky to be alive today, and so are you all. Remember that, and remember them. They would have wanted us to move on, to achieve greatness, and to live to do good things, because they can no longer. Thank you.”

I expected a smattering of applause when I stepped back from the podium. Perhaps no one would clap, and the solemn silence would accompany me to my seat. Instead, the auditorium came to its feet—a standing ovation. I realized as I slowly descended the stairs that even my neck was wet with tears. I had been crying for a long time and hadn’t noticed.

As I passed Vice Principal Redding, I saw her tears, and almost every face I passed was wet. People I didn’t know very well touched me as I walked up the aisle toward my seat near the back; I refused to sit in the front row, easily accessible.

Olivia Bateman touched my hand as I passed her, her mascara smeared where she’d wiped her eyes. Celeste Hatfield grabbed at my dress as though to stop me but seemed stunned when I looked at her, as though she hadn’t been expecting me to stop. When I took my seat, I had to scoot past Janet Morrison. She forced me to stop by blocking the way with her body. She was standing uncomfortably close for a long moment and then, as if moved to do so, she wrapped her scrawny arms around me and pulled me in for an unwarranted hug.

None of these girls said anything, but the message was one of solidarity and courage; at least, that’s what I took from these strange interactions. I could never have imagined any of these things happening until they did.

As I took my seat, Principal Sterner adjusted the mic at the podium for his great height and then cleared his throat as the audience settled back into their seats.

“I couldn’t have put it better myself, Corinna,” he began, and I almost wanted to laugh from the absurdity of it all. “Usually when I make the opening remarks at a graduation ceremony, I start by acknowledging the hard work and dedication of the educators of this fine, if small, institution….”

I tuned out his voice almost as soon as he began his speech. I couldn’t stand to listen to him and his cookie-cutter graduation speech, tweaked carefully to avoid too much cheer in light of the murders. They should have postponed or canceled the ceremony completely, in my opinion. But I guess that wouldn’t be fair to the students who couldn’t care less if three of their classmates were dead.

I sat with a placid expression on my face until my row was called up on stage. My tears had dried by the time I reached the center of the stage and shook hands with Principal Sterner, who smiled falsely for photographs as he handed me the rolled-up sheet of blank paper that was a stand-in for my real diploma. I didn’t smile for the pictures, I simply stood and allowed them to be taken.